


Corporal Punishment

by crocodile_eat_u



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Biting, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Figging, Humiliation, M/M, Marking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocodile_eat_u/pseuds/crocodile_eat_u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> It isn’t a game, but merely a side to them, something Douglas finds himself enjoying immensely. The gentle reveal of the darker, baser side to Martin is certainly a treat, a path Douglas never tires of discovering.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Corporal Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Written from the sudden kink fest I had where people prompted me extreme kinks to write. [](http://alicia-adrana.livejournal.com/profile)[**alicia_adrana**](http://alicia-adrana.livejournal.com/) wanted daddy!kink and marking/possession but I was gagging for figging and practically everything else in this fic. Poor girl didn't know what hit her.
> 
> Warning: Right. *deep breath* Daddy!kink, figging, spanking, dirtytalk, humilation, D/s and marking/possesion
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, do not own. D:

**Corporal Punishment**

He loves this side of it. This soft, subtle shift in their sexual proclivities. To call it their sex life would have been an adequate, but nonetheless poor attempt to describe a situation that was whole heartedly more enthralling. It isn’t a game, but merely a side to them, something Douglas finds himself enjoying immensely. The gentle reveal of the darker, baser side to Martin is certainly a treat, a path Douglas never tires of discovering.

In a word, it would have been called kinky. Yes, perhaps they were kinky, more so than anything else Douglas has ever experienced. But it is nothing wholly definable. The line of normal sex, to higher levels of fetishism, is never there. They make it up as they go along, do what feels right and it works perfectly for them, as should it work for others. Of course, being tied down to society with the underlying stereotype waiting to jump them, Douglas thinks it’s best to bite the bullet while he can and admit that yes, their sex life was certainly above average.

Not that he is complaining. _Au contraire_ , there is nothing about Martin Douglas ever feels the need to even fathom complaining about. He does so simply for entertainment, because the blush on Martin’s wan cheeks is more beautiful than he can begin to comprehend, but deep down, there is nothing he would change about the man.

So when Martin stutters his request, whispers it breathily into Douglas’ ear as they lay in bed, skin upon skin, heat upon heat, the man can’t help but agree to it. It was surprising, something he had never thought to consider before, but he would do it. He would do it because Martin wanted it. Craved it in fact; judging by the way the man pressed himself to him, slotted Douglas’ weeping erection between his thighs and humped it slowly. And as Douglas slid against the man’s cheeks, rubbed against the silky expanse of his inner thighs he promised whole heartedly to do anything in his power to make Martin happy.

Despite how avidly filthy and kinky it was. How wrong it might’ve seemed. Martin wanted it, wanted it badly enough to admit to Douglas, to lick that wet whisper into his ear and ride him until Douglas came screaming, seeing blotchy white stars on the black canvas beneath his lids.

And essentially, it was part affection that drove Douglas, love if they were willing to admit, and part _quid pro quo_. Because that’s what it was between them, a perfect synchronisation of compromise. From fucking, to shagging, to kisses, to dinner, to finally making love in the early hours of the morning, sleepy smiles and worn limbs dragged over each other in a tangle of ecstasy. All of which, would not amount to anything without barter, conciliation with each other.

That and Douglas was rather willing to try almost anything when Martin requested it so earnestly, so whole heartedly sincere it almost hurt to think that this god send of a man was all his.

Thus Douglas finds himself waiting for the perfect moment, calculating and scheming until everything can be set out perfectly, all the dominos dutifully aligned. And when, four days later, the ideal opportunity presents itself, Doulas finds himself all too eager to snatch it up.

He sits quietly, all the preparations completed, the pieces in play, and watches the clock vigilantly, his mind carefully blank, his bloody reduced to a low simmer. Martin is due back soon, and as meticulous to punctuality as he is, Douglas knows he will be home on time. But he won’t be. Not in this household. For the time here and time Martin knows, is clearly divided, and in this reality, Martin is late, will be an hour late to be precise, Douglas calculates as he notches the clock forward an hour. He is scrupulous in their role playing, a firm believer in the attention to details. And it pays off undoubtedly, the small changes he makes to the surroundings and to himself whenever they role play, both heightening the experience and making it that much more real.

Eventually, he hears the metal clink of keys, of the rattling of the lock and listens as Martin opens the door. The shadow of the door against the cream carpet lengthens before dispersing as Martin strolls in, humming softly under his breath and Douglas knows in an instance he’s tipsy. Perhaps not so much as to not realise what is going to happen, but enough to light some fire in his veins. Enough Dutch courage for them both and although Douglas prides himself on his outwardly calm demeanour, even he cannot repress the anxiety swimming in his gut.

Martin closes the door and throws the keys haphazardly on a nearby cabinet before walking into the living room and pausing. Douglas watches him coolly.

Finally, he speaks. “You’re late.”

He can see the wheels turning in Martin’s mind, the dials shifting as Martin glances at the clock on the wall, nervous eyes flittering to his own watch. He frowns, a gentle furrow between his brows before glancing at Douglas.

And it’s all he needs before realisation dawns like the gentle shift from night to day. Douglas swears he sees it, sees the glimmer of emotion in Martin’s eyes, the acknowledgment, the hope, the sudden trepidation as his hands clench into fists and his pink tongue darts out to swipe over paper dry lips. It’s a beautiful sight, seeing raw thought form in Martin’s mind, the image of the two of them together, locked in screaming delight, passing through his head like a summons- _come hither Martin._

Martin opens his mouth and falters. “I...”

The two blink at each other, a silent conversation passing over each word.

“You’re what?” _Do you still want this?_

“I...I’m sorry.” _Yes, I’m certain._

“Sorry what?” _Do you remember the safe word?_

Martin pauses, his lids fluttering gently as he lowers his eyes and worries his plump lip between white teeth. It presses pink, his cheeks flushing heavily as he looks up from under his lashes a moment later, beautifully coy, and utters- “I’m sorry...daddy.” _Yes._

And so it begins, Douglas muses as he stands. He treasures Martin’s submission like a gift, a priceless object given to his care and watching him now, head bowed, trembling faintly with anticipation, Douglas knows he can do nothing but cherish it.

Now, they aren’t Douglas and Martin. Martin is a wholly different person, the character he has crafted with such meticulous precision over the years, subdued within him until someone, Douglas, finally let him free. Martin is this person whenever they play like this, the coy, submissive beauty of a man Douglas just wants to worship. And although it’s Martin at his feet, Douglas knows he’d happily fall to his knees if Martin looked at him like that and asked so deliciously.

And as Martin so often switches, Douglas does so as well out of obligation. He is not the man in the plane, the first officer. He is Douglas Richardson there, lover, pilot, father. Here, he is Douglas Richardson, master, possessor and now _daddy._

“Are you sorry?” He asks archly, watching Martin carefully. The man swallows hard and nods quickly, already well immersed in his character.

“I am...I am daddy.”

He steps toward the other, his heart frightfully calm. “I was worried.”

“I know, I...I’m sorry daddy, I’m sorry.”

Douglas can already feel the first sparks of arousal stirring in his cock, that whimpering, soft word crawling into his skin, making his hands tremble with want.

 _Christ Martin, what do you do to me?_

“I know you’re sorry Martin but you need to learn to do what you’ve been told, to follow the rules.” He steps forward and clasps the man’s shoulders gently, lifting his head to face him. “You know what happens to naughty boys.”

The sudden flash of terror within Martin’s pale, crystal eyes knocks the breath right of out of Douglas. But it is a part of the character, Martin knows the safe word. _He does._

He shakes his head vigorously, pleading. “No, please, I’ll be good I promise.”

“You need to learn Martin,” Douglas says firmly before giving the man a once over. “Where were you?”

Watery blue eyes meet his own, contrasting vividly with the pink blush across those pale cheeks. “Out...with friends.”

“Just friends?”

Martin nods, affirming, before biting his lip and looking away. Douglas immediately knows to follow. “Martin...” he warned. “Did anyone touch you?”

“I...no daddy...”he faltered. “Not...not really. It was just a kiss.”

There is no kiss. Douglas knows there isn’t. He knows it deep within his bones, Martin’s complete and utter devotion grafted into him so deep, he wouldn’t believe it even if it were true. Martin did go out with friends, a couple of the younger lads from Air England they’d recently been acquainted with, but Douglas knew exactly when Martin wanted something and steers himself to improvise, following the man’s lead.

His hands clench on Martin’s shoulders. “A kiss?” he echoes. “Where?”

Martin whimpers, barely an audible sound before placing his fingers just above his collar bone. “I’m sorry daddy.”

Douglas sucks in a breath and steps away from the other, sighing in resignation. “Martin. You know this is now not an option.” He watches dazedly as Martin hangs his head, surprised at how well things were proceeding so far. It is nothing short of amazing watching Martin like this, so raw and vulnerable. If the man could, Douglas thinks he’d bare his neck for his teeth, Martin offering himself to him. The thought alone is enough to make Douglas’ dick jerk, to flare such a burning and fierce love within him, almost enough to make him want to throw them both to the floor and pound into Martin now.

But no, he can’t. Not like that. Such an idea seemed utterly banal at this moment, weighing nothing in compassion to the heady trepidation building within his chest, threatening to explode with fury, with such vigour neither of them could stand. Martin needs release, needs an outlet to all the tension, the exhaustion, the struggling in his veins. He needs to be worshipped and loved and wanted and Douglas is all too keen to give such to the man. He’ll never admit it, and they both know it, but he loves Martin more so than he can ever hope to express. Words are trite, are nothing in comparison to whatever it is he feels inside, and if indulging the man is even a fraction close to showing Martin what Douglas feels, he’ll do it. He’ll do it until his last breath.

A beat passes, vibrating tensely between them before Douglas bites the bullet, breaking the silence between them. “You need to learn...” he murmurs, gripping Martin’s chin gently with his thumb and index finger. “You know that don’t you?”

Martin stares at him and every second hurts with such aching fervour Douglas doesn’t know if he can handle it. Finally though, he speaks, a small, soft whisper barely reaching Douglas’ ears. “I know daddy.” And once again- “I’m sorry.”

He drops his hand. “Good.” And nudges his head toward the kitchen.

It’s dark when they step in, immaculately clean save a few dishes in the sink and Douglas flicks the light on. It’s a decent sized space, enough thankfully, to fit a dining table in and he pulls a chair out, the legs screeching in protest against the lino. Martin is behind him, standing awkwardly but silent, his eyes downcast as he skittishly watches Douglas through his lashes. The man wants to take pity and call it off, but he knows he can’t for Martin’s sake.

“Take your clothes off Martin,” he orders, moving toward the fridge and the fruit bowl beside it. There’s a piece of ginger he’s left there in the hope of using it this week in fine cuisine. But for the moment, he can find a wholly different and more interesting use for it. It’s something he came across years before he knew Martin, years of experience lurking just under his belt. And whilst the thought never occurred to use it, it didn’t stop him from _knowing_ it.

Douglas however, he likes to think he knows Martin’s limits. They’ve dabbled in punishment before, in BDSM, whenever the occasion arose, nothing overtly out of the norm aside from the odd spanking and bondage. And nothing seemed a more fitting time than to try a new method out. But this felt rather like hitting a new level. He isn’t worried though, Martin is nothing short of surprising, both adaptable and pleasantly responsive to whatever he or Douglas wanted to try.

Douglas blinks at the ginger before reaching for it and searching through the draws for a knife. He turns to sit down at the table, peeling the ginger calmly, his thumb twisting the root around so he can shave it in quick, brusque strips.

He peers up, just a flick of his dark eyes and sees Martin shivering, shoulders slumped as he curls in on himself, his clothes falling away with crumpled whispers. “Daddy?” he mumbles, bright eyes impossibly wide and Douglas just wants to kiss them.

“Turn around love,” Douglas says, averting his gaze back to the piece of ginger he’s carving into. The smell is already wafting, stinging and he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. “On your knees and elbows.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath as Martin realises what’s happening, and Douglas has to look up, seeing those frosty blue eyes widen impossibly, his lips blushed red. “Daddy...” He looks from Douglas to the ginger, teeth gnawing at his lip and shuffles timidly, shivering from the cool air. Douglas can just about see the goosebumps on his skin, the fair hairs standing on end.

“Martin,” Douglas admonishes firmly. “You brought this on yourself.”

“But daddy-”

He looks at the man, his eyebrows raised but far from the usual lofty expression he wore. _“Martin.”_

It works and Martin ceases all protests, swallowing hard and hanging his head. Douglas can see his throat bob softly, the glint of his eyes beneath his fringe, and once again feels himself overwhelmed with desire, as cliché as it sounds. Martin is handsome, awkwardly so with gangly limbs and protruding ribs. He is pasty and ginger and his hair curls in odd places but by god, Douglas doesn’t believe he’s ever felt such need pull at him than when with Martin. His pride won’t let him admit it freely but it bothers neither of them really. They already know.

The man finally turns and complies, crumpling with coltish grace to his knees, propping himself up on his elbows. Douglas spares a moment to gaze at him, to admire the man, his freckled skin, the fleshy meat of his upturned rear. It’s bemusing to think that the man hasn’t the faintest clue or regard to his own body, to how gorgeous he really is and it makes Douglas giddy with laugher every time, both rather thankful for such a humble catch, and grateful he managed to snare Martin before another middle aged, jaded pilot did.

Douglas feels his throat tighten just a fraction and swallows hard. “Knees love,” he says. “Open your legs for me.” _Let me see you._

Martin complies with a muffled grunt, his cheek pressed to the cold lino, eyes staring up at Douglas pleadingly- _please daddy, I’ll be good_ \- spreading his knees further apart until the cheeks of his backside part just so.

Douglas, having just finished carving a tapered end to the finger of ginger, moves toward the sink to rinse it under the tap. The cold water is a sharp against his skin, tingling his fingers, and he realises then how hot he’s become, the back of his neck damp with sweat. He flicks the excess water off and finally glances at Martin, the man’s body folded perfectly on the floor.

Martin whimpers as Douglas steps closer, kneeling behind the man. His pink pucker comes into view, the ring of muscle tight and furrowed, Martin clenching with each slow, agonising second slinking by. Douglas places his free hand on Martin’s rump, patting it lightly. “I need you to relax for me, darling,” he murmurs, the sound reverberating through the quiet room, only punctuated by Martin’s soft, breathy sighs.

“O-ok I’ll try...”

It doesn’t make much of a difference but the man does try, the quivering muscle loosening ever so slightly as his body unwinds gently. Douglas rumbles his approval, stroking the fleshy meat of Martin’s cheek before hooking his thumb in the crack, prying his cheeks apart further. He then places the wet stick of ginger, the rounded end nudging just so against the winking muscle. It clenches tightly as Martin gasps at the feeling.

“Daddy!”

“Martin,” Douglas scolds, tightening his grip. “No.”

The man’s pale skin blushes red, the ruddy hue inking up his thighs, his pale buttocks, the small of his back. Douglas’ grip has tightened and it bleaches the man’s skin right at his finger tips, the red expanse of Martin’s embarrassment slinking further north toward his shoulders. A red, blotchy canvas Martin paints with his mortification and it is both a pathetic sight and tantalisingly gorgeous.

Douglas nudges the ginger further, pressing hard into Martin’s quivering anus before his sphincter gives way and the ginger slides in with ease. Douglas pushes it until the tapered end rests snugly against the pink ring, and pats his bottom approvingly.

“Good boy,” he praises in a soft mummer above the small, pitying cries Martin gives. Martin paws at the floor, his back arching and toes curling, moaning at the foreign intruder.

“I’m sorry I had to do this love,” Douglas says, rubbing Martin’s cheeks in soothing circles. “But you’ve been very naughty.”

He waits a minute or two for the ginger to take effect, and it has indeed taken tremendous effect, Martin squirming, his pucker flaring around the root, involuntarily trying to expel it.

“Daddy...”Martin cries, his face pressed to the floor as he squirms. “I-I’m sorry!”

“I know you are but it doesn’t change things darling.” Douglas reaches with both hands and squeezes the plump cheeks together, listening to the howl ripping from Martin’s throat as the burn of the ginger increases. He rubs his fingers against the cheeks gently before releasing, moving away and catching a hold on the chair to help support him up. Martin lies on the floor, writhing, muffling his whimpers with his hands and the sight alone is enough to turn Douglas’ stomach into water, his chest constricting painfully. Martin is putting on a show, a dammed good one at that and it almost makes Douglas uncomfortable, watching him writhe so. However as he watches the man quietly, he notices the soft undulations of Martin’s hips, his fluttering pucker squeezing and releasing around the ginger and realises with no little amount of pleasure, that Martin is really quite enjoying this.

The purple, burgeoning head of the man’s cock peeking into Douglas’ sight is a testament to this and Douglas can feel his mouth water. Oh how he underestimated the man.

“You really are such a naughty boy...” he murmurs, almost to himself, feeling his dick twitch with interest. Martin pauses with a soft moan, turning his head and Douglas steps into his line of sight, eyes locked. Martin is flushed, beautifully so, his mouth lax, lips swollen. His eyes are glazed as he stares at Douglas, glinting wonderfully in the glow of the overhead light, and Douglas can swear on every soul he knows that they flash briefly, a small, slight glimmer of wickedness present.

And then he groans, a guttural, throaty noise vibrating straight to Douglas’ cock and the man knows, by god does Douglas know how much Martin is enjoying this.

“Daddy...”

Douglas turns away, stepping toward the sink and runs his remarkably steady hands under cold water. It’s bitterly sharp, a stark reminder for him to keep his head, not to blow this before it’s time.

“Stay there for me Martin,” he says glibly, his voice level and calm. “Don’t move.”

Martin complies and Douglas spends the next few torturous minutes hovering around the kitchen, washing whatever dishes left in the sink, discarding the ginger skin and wiping the table clean. All the while, small, pathetic whines are pulled from Martin’s mouth, from between those plump lips as the ginger stings right through him. Douglas, watching Martin carefully throughout the moments, decides then to put the next part of his plan into action. He steps around the man, and into the doorway, feeling Martin’s eyes burn into him and nudges his head.

“Can you stand?”

The man squeezes his eyes shut and nods, apprehension lingering just underneath the heady flush blooming on his cheeks. Douglas raises an eyebrow blithely, before heading into the living room. “Good. Come here.”

He takes a seat on the sofa, perching on the edge of it comfortably as he listens for Martin, hearing the faint slap of skin on the lino. The faint glow from the lamp seems almost ethereal when Martin shuffles in, bathing the man in light and shadow, those crisp cheekbones, his round shoulders. It steals Douglas’ breath away.

“Daddy?” Martin asks, wide eyed and brimming with nervous energy. He looked like a rabbit caught in the farmer’s torch, ready to bolt but too frightened. Douglas swallows his need to comfort the man and proceeds on with the event, patting his knee, eyebrows raised shrewdly.

They’ve dabbled in spankings before, another one on Martin’s request, so it isn’t new territory. The role, however, is and Douglas is slightly unsure how Martin will respond to it. Never before has he felt such apprehension toward anything and it is unnerving. Despite his misgivings, that brief flash Douglas spotted earlier in Martin’s eyes reappears fleetingly, signalling all he needs to know.

Martin limps forward, wincing at the burn in his bottom before pausing in front of the man, looking down with practised hesitancy. “Daddy...” he starts, his voice carrying beautifully with its soft lilt. “Daddy, I’m sorry...I won’t do it again I promise...”

Douglas blinks up at the man, his eyebrows arched with exasperation. “So you keep saying darling, but you need this otherwise you’ll never learn.” He pats his lap once more, his expression firm and without nonsense. “Now, on my lap please. You’ll receive five with the ginger in, and five without. Alright?”

There is a sniffle and a wobble of the lip as Martin’s eyes well up tearfully and he nods dutifully, sniffing. “Yes daddy...” he chokes in a soft whisper, the sound ghosting just beneath Douglas’ skin to rap at his heart.

“Good boy.

Douglas watches, positioning his knees as Martin drapes himself over his lap, his erection jutting into the man’s thigh, head hanging to avoid eye contact. It is the humiliation, Douglas surmises idly as he traces his fingers down his captain’s cleft, the idea of being so utterly and completely vulnerable in front of another person, which gets Martin off, makes him writhe with utter delight. But along with that, it is the idea of the brewing and strengthening trust between them. There isn’t a chance in all of existence Martin would allow another to become as close as Douglas is, let alone touch him in this manner- and it’s that trust and implicit faith in the other that raises both their temperatures, that lingers in the back of their minds in day, at night when they curl together in bed. They were friends before this, good friends and soon enough they both came to realise that really, all they had were each other. When real life never quite made the cut and flying became unspoken anticipation. Of course Carolyn and Arthur were there, when were they not? But it was unsurprising to them all when both Martin and Douglas fell for each other as hard as they did.

So when Martin shuffles awkwardly over his lap, his skin pressed pink, half from humiliation, half from true arousal, Douglas realises just what risk it took for Martin to reveal such a fantasy like this. What trust he had in him, and it’s nothing short of breathtaking.

“Daddy?” Martin asks, breaking into Douglas’ train of thought. He is looking at him, craning his neck, wide blue eyes studying him cautiously. _Are you alright?_

Douglas smiles reassuringly, the only break in character he’s allowed himself this night, and traces his thumb around the piece of ginger nestled firmly between the man’s cheeks. _Yes, I’m fine._ Martin must catch this for his lips twitch ever so slightly, a smile tugging at them, elusive to anyone who isn’t looking, and ducks his head again, groaning lowly as Douglas presses his thumb firmly against the root. “Daddy...”

“It’s alright Martin,” Douglas soothes, rubbing his palm flatly against the man’s buttocks. He is so bony, so angular with no fault of his own, yet this part remains so decadently ample. _Callipygian_ , he remembers vaguely, reading it somewhere years ago when he was young, wily and free, most likely in one of his father’s books. The Greeks certainly had it down right. Beautiful, bountiful, buttocks. And they were all his.

“Count for me,” he murmurs before raising his hand and bringing it down sharply on the cheeks. They ripple and Martin’s shudders out a “one”, the muscles in his back bunching and clenching tightly. Douglas cracks his hand a second time and the skin stains red.

He can feel Martin try to clench, to tighten his muscles so the blow lessens but the ginger stops him, the burn growing. Douglas can feel the root against his smarting palm and he brings his hand down with force until Martin chokes out the fifth blow. He’s crying now, the glassy well of tears falling in faint droplets onto the carpet.

“Shhh...” Douglas croons, rubbing his hand soothingly on the heated skin. “Half way there Martin, my good boy. You’ve done so well...”

The man sniffles, a sob forcing its way past his throat. Douglas can feel it rumble against his leg through Martin’s sharp chest. “Daddy please...”

“No, Martin. We need to follow this through.” He takes hold of the end of the ginger, twisting it slightly and eliciting a soft cry from the man bellow. “I’m going to pull this out now, and then you’ll have five more. Ok?”

Martin nods and there is a stuttered gasp when Douglas gently pries the ginger out, sliding it free and placing it aside. Martin’s hole flares before clenching, puffy and red from the root, quivering when Douglas blows on it softly. Douglas finally rubs his hand against the man’s cheeks again, feeling the sharp heat against his palm.

“Right, count for me again.” And he brings his hand down sharply, landing squarely in the middle. He alternates from each cheek, varying in strength before Martin sobs out “ten”. The man is trembling in his lap, his bottom mottled red, a thin film of sweat shinning on his back. Douglas rubs his behind gently, soothingly before coaxing Martin up to stand between his legs, looking up at him.

“There,” he rumbles softly, thumbing the hot, fleshy skin just bellow Martin’s right buttock. “All done. Did you learn your lesson?”

Martin nods fervently, still sniffling, his cheeks glistening with tear tracks. “Yes daddy.”

“And will you do it again?”

A meek shake of the head is all Douglas needs before he smiles up at the man, kissing the toned abdomen gently. “Good boy...my good boy. You’re not naughty anymore are you?”

There’s a small, shy twitch of the lips and Martin almost seems bashful as he shakes his head. “No daddy.”

“You’re a good boy and daddy loves you.”

“I love you too daddy...”

Douglas smiles against Martin’s stomach, pressing his lips just bellow his navel before rising to his feet, bringing a thumb to the man’s chin, stroking up his cheek to the corner of his eye.

“My good boy...” he murmurs almost inaudibly, the words catching just barely in his throat. “And good boys get rewarded, don’t they?” He’s beginning to love this game, if only for the light that blossoms in Martin’s eye at this very moment.

“Really?” Martin sounds so innocent, so soft and lovely it should be a crime. He leans forward and buries his head in the crook of Douglas’ neck, nuzzling there as he brings his palms up to the man’s chest, curling against his shirt.

Douglas smiles and runs a hand through Martin’s downy curls, sliding to the nape of his neck. “Yes, really.”

He feels the damp sensation of lips against his neck, moving upward and pressing gently to his ear. How Martin can be so coy, make a gesture seem so innocent, yet so ardently filthy is beyond him. He cannot begin to fathom it. Instead, he goes with the flow, uncaring that really, he never led at all during this, that Martin was always the one in charge, gripping the reins. He allows Martin to kiss his ear, whispering so softly into it, pressing his lithe and supple body to Douglas’. His erection has somewhat wilted now, because of the spanking no doubt, but Douglas knows that can be fixed without a problem and lays full concentration on the full, hot lips against his ear.

“I want you to fuck me daddy...please fuck me...”

Douglas has to fight not to throw the man down and follow through with the deed. He knows what sort of hair-trigger their on and if he rushes this, the evening could quite well cut out before either one of them is satisfied beyond all coherency. Instead, he cocks his eyebrows in glib interest, the epitome of nonchalance, and pulls away slightly so he is able to fully look at the man.

“Are you sure, Martin?”

Martin nods quickly, his eyes darting away from Douglas, cheeks flushing. “Please daddy...I want it. I-I...I...love...” he trails off awkwardly and Douglas seizes his chin to force the man’s eyes back to him.

“Hey, hey love, look at me.” Martin complies with reluctance. “What is it? Tell me?”

“I...I...I love it when you f-fuck me...” he stammers nervously. “W-when you’re inside me...please daddy, please can I have that?” His plea is so gorgeously depraved Douglas makes a mental note to congratulate the man later on the stellar performance. For now though, Douglas smiles gently, running his hand slowly down his shoulders to the small of his back, which Martin arches into.

“You love it hmm?”

“Y-yes...yes, I love it when you fill me...” Martin leans in again, resting his head on Douglas’ collarbone. “Please daddy... _please_?”

How could he refuse?

“Alright then,” Douglas replies, kissing the soft curls of Martin’s hair, ignoring the slight flutter in his stomach as the butterflies run riot. “Anything for my boy...”

He can feel Martin’s smile against his collarbone, the gentle beam pressed against his skin. “Thank you daddy...”

The two head upstairs and into the bedroom, which Douglas had handily prepared earlier. The sheets are fresh, and lube restocked, placed well within reach of the bed. He skipped out on the condoms though, they haven’t needed them since Martin insisted on tests. That and the idea of being skin on skin with Martin is too tantalising for words.

Douglas flicks on the light, twirling the dimmer switch until it is a comfortable glow, and urges Martin onto the bed. The man shuffles on and sprawls back, resting languidly against the pillows, his knees parted and askew, pale eyes watching Douglas with interest. He smiles at the man, his own fingers moving to flick the buttons of his shirt open.

“Martin?” Douglas asks as an idea suddenly comes to him. There is no reason why the game has to slow here, and he thinks if he requests this, not only will Martin whole-heartedly accept, it would probably take care of the wilted problem between his legs. Douglas knows exactly how aroused he is and if he touches the man now, so much as kisses him, he’s afraid the finale might arrive a tad prematurely. His eyes flicker to the bottle of lube on the bedside drawer, catching Martin’s attention before he gestures to it with a slight nod of his head. “Darling...I want you to prepare yourself for me.”

There is a beat of silence, Martin regarding Douglas carefully, his skin flushing once more before he ducks his head shyly, smiling softly. “Yes daddy...” Douglas swears his heart jumps in his throat when Martin reaches for the lube, his stomach somersaulting at the mere notion of Martin pressing those nimble fingers one by one into himself, gasping aloud as he fucked himself on his hand.

 _God._

Douglas watches passively as Martin sits up on his knees, leaning over to pluck the lube from the bedside cabinet. His fingers rest on his buttons, still as Martin leans back against the pillows, pushing his knees up and apart, bringing them up to his chest. Douglas loves the small details, adores cataloguing the gestures and motions Martin makes. He memorises it all, places it on a shelf in the back of his mind; the squirmy expression Martin makes when he wants to smile but knows he shouldn’t, the jut of his chin when he knows he’s right, the flush of colour mantling his cheeks when embarrassed, or happy, or just normal. Douglas loves that especially, pressing his lips to the skin, on the side of his nose to feel that heat, kissing Martin’s apprehension or mortification away. Because really, the man has no reason to feel any of that. Yes Douglas teases him, indulging the secretive, happy place within him that enjoys seeing Martin get so riled, so overwhelmed; but only because he knows he can fix it with a word, sooth the man’s frayed nerves with a well placed hand, or with whatever comfort he can offer.

And he loves it.

His heart starts slightly at the sound of the cap popping on the lube, the delighted little rumble Martin gives in his throat as he slicks his fingers up, one then two, then three. Douglas can feel the sweat form on his ribs, sticking against his shirt as he watches Martin intently, those fingers dragging down to that sweet, pink pucker and he almost can’t breathe, can’t think clearly past the idea of Martin doing this for him- sweet, prissy, uptight Martin, now mewling like a kitten, sliding the first finger past the ring of muscle and curling. His thighs are trembling with the strain of holding himself open, quivering as his toes curl and his eyes blink dazedly at the ceiling.

“Unngh...” he groans, low and languid and positively delicious. “Daddy...daddy are you watching me?”

Christ, if Martin continues like this there’s a perceptible chance Douglas’ heart will give out. He can see himself falling from a cardiac arrest, smiling in death, and quickly wipes the thought away, not wanting to consider something so disastrously morbid at a time like this. Although it is a timeless notion that sex and death are invariably linked- _la petite mort_. He swears, when he comes with Martin’s hand on him, or his mouth, or inside that tight, supple arse, Douglas dies every time, lost momentarily in pure heaven, in nirvana, in bliss, before being sucked back into his body, into sense and reality.

He closes his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply before opening them, feeling them dilate and stretch with arousal, his chest constricting. “Yes Martin, my boy,” he murmured, his stomach clenching. “God, I’m watching...”

Martin wriggles ever so slightly, twisting the finger and curling it, his anus clenching tightly around it. He then presses his second finger to it, attempting to slide it in, although with some difficulty. “D-daddy...I can’t-” He cuts off, trying to squirm into position, bearing down to try and slide the finger past the tense ring of muscle. It must sting still, the burn from the ginger still smarting slightly but Martin seems eager enough, trying his hardest for his daddy.

Douglas’ brow furrows, frowning gently in sympathy as his fingers proceed to unbutton his shirt. “Darling?”

“I can’t...” Martin blinks at the ceiling, his cheeks red in embarrassment as his hand goes slack, chest heaving heavily in a soft sigh. “I-I...I need help daddy...”

 _Oh_. “Yes, darling, of course.” Douglas quickly shucks out of his now unbuttoned shirt, starting on his belt and sliding it out through the loops. Martin leans on his elbows, his knobby knees still pressed against his sinewy chest, his stomach shuddering gently with the strain. Douglas moves toward the foot of the bed, standing, eyes locked with Martin’s carefully. Their gaze seizes upon one another, intertwined, pale blue meeting impossibly dark brown in unison as Douglas unzips his trousers and pushes them down along with his underwear, stepping out of them. Now, they are equals in skin, both as naked as the day they were ripped into the world and it’s never been more erotic, more intimate than this.

He places his knee on the bed, crawling forward until Martin is shielded within his arms and knees, gazing up at Douglas fondly. So much to read within those beautifully pallid eyes, so much expression in his skin, the way he blushes, the gentle bob of his throat. Douglas brings a hand up, hovering just above Martin’s sternum, skimming the pads of his fingers across the freckled skin, pressing against his side hard enough to blanch the skin. Martin bowed lips part, a soft, barely perceptible gasp ghosting gently over Douglas’ neck. Douglas drags his fingers lower, running on the silky expanse of the inside of Martin’s thigh. He moves to press them against the man’s hip, the crease where thigh met groin, the sharp bone of his iliac crest, worshiping silently, prolonging the moment for all it as worth. Finally he gently runs his fingers over Martin’s hand, which still lays pooled at his groin, pressing against the finger within him.

“D-daddy?” Martin whispers in a daze, his eyes half lidded, gazing at Douglas through his lashes.

“Shhh Martin...” Douglas hushes, soothing him. He takes hold of Martin’s fingers, coaxing him to press his middle finger against his entrance. “Come on darling...”

With Douglas’ guidance, Martin is able to slide his finger in, gritting his teeth from the slight sting, eyes squeezed shut.

Douglas smiles. “Good boy...”

Martin eyes flutter open, glinting at him as his lips twitch into a lazy smile. “Hmm...Daddy.” He juts his hips up, arching his back, neck craning as his fingers sink a fraction deeper. “Please daddy, please fuck me...”

There’s a brief moment as Douglas fights the urge to grin rakishly, to make a teasing comment and follow through with the request. Instead he keeps firmly to his role, his brow pulling in concern. “You’re not prepared enough though love, you’ll get hurt.”

“No,” Martin whines, squirming. “No daddy, please! I want it now! Please fill me up, please!”

“Martin I-”

“Daddy...” He’s begging now, eyes wide as they water and Douglas can’t bare this any longer. He finally nods, sighing in faux exasperation, moving his hand to press against the hot skin of Martin’s mottled bottom. The man flinches, moaning lowly before pressing down against Douglas’ hand, grinding himself against it. He’s still sensitive from the spanking, his skin dappled pink from the force of Douglas’ hits. But it doesn’t stop Martin in the slightest, instead spurring him on further. Christ, this man is a wanton.

Douglas sighs before rolling away to prop himself against the pillows, his back pressed to the headboard. “Alright Martin, if you want it so much.” He raises an eyebrow, arching it in challenge. He pats his lap, his erection jutting up, standing to attention, and waits.

Martin clambers coltishly, sliding his thighs over the man’s lap, straddling it as he grinds his own cock, now fully interested in the proceedings, against Douglas’ stomach, his hands clamping firmly around his shoulders. They bleach the skin, pressing tight as he clings on for dear life but it doesn’t bother Douglas in the least, who can do nothing but spread his thighs for more. He bends his knees just so, allowing Martin purchase, and together they wrestle the man up, knobbly knees astride hips as he leans over Douglas and reaches for the tube of lube.

Douglas watches as Martin pops the cap off, as he coats his hand liberally and brings it to his dick, coating it in swift, quick strokes. He rubs a thumb over the mushroomed head, through the slit and smiles as Douglas inhales harshly, trying hard to strive off the urge to slam his hips up into the glorious hand.

“Daddy are you ready?” Martin whispers almost conspiratorially, which is certainly odd enough to make Douglas grin, hands moving to his hips to grip tightly as Martin manoeuvres himself, reaching back and positioning Douglas.

“Come on Martin...” Douglas murmurs, voice cracking into something wholly unlike his usual smooth drawl. “Do it for daddy...”

Martin tilts his hips backward, pushing down and catching just so before sinking entirely onto Douglas’ length. They throw their heads back, groaning aloud at the sensation, one ineffably full, the other so surrounded by heat. It is nothing short of magnificent.

“God Martin...” Douglas rasps, his fingers clenching tight as Martin raises his hips once and sinks back down with throaty cry. “You’re amazing...you’re absolutely brilliant...”

It is embarrassing almost, Douglas considers in the brief moment he is able to catch thought, to feel so utterly incoherent, babbling such nonsense. But it is true, so, so remarkably true, everything he says. Martin is brilliant, so bloody amazing and he doesn’t know this, doesn’t know how much he’s worth and that itself is a crime of the utmost proportions.

He can’t tell if the man’s listening, if he can even hear him as Martin grinds himself down, mouth falling open around a gasp for air as he pumps himself on Douglas’ cock. “D-daddy...daddy oh it feels so good...” The harsh, quick whispers slink into Douglas’ ears, trail down his skin and it’s almost enough to make him come there and then. Even now, Martin is still firmly in role, in sync with Douglas and it is remarkable how resilient he is toward distraction, how doggedly determined he can be when focused. And it’s truly envious; Douglas only wishes he had that much strive.

And though he may lack in that certain area in comparison to his obsessively specific Captain, Douglas knows he can make it up in his endurance and ability to keep up, no matter what the circumstances. And with that, he snaps his hips up, eliciting the most wonderful cry from the other man.

They’re soon thrusting against each other, Martin riding his lap as hard as he can, head thrown back around a filthily obscene groan. He’s shimmering, his neck glistening with sweat and Douglas can’t help but lean forward and press an opened mouth kiss just above his collarbone, feeling like a parched man to water. He drags his tongue across the collarbone, slinking up and peppering wet kisses across the expanse of the man’s skin, grazing teeth to draw the most wonderful, debauched whimpers from Martin.

“I love you Martin...” Douglas chokes. “Daddy loves you, you know that don’t you? You’re my good boy...”

“Yes, daddy, yes!” Martin sobs. “I’m yours daddy, all yours.”

“You are, you are. You’re all mine Martin.” The words push out of his mouth before he can even think of them, consider what he’s saying. He’s mindless with lust, viciously slamming Martin down over and over again on his cock like a ragdoll, his teeth scraping the shell of his ear and skimming down to his neck, over that spot Martin alluded to at the beginning. “You’re my boy, all mine.” He bites down hard, teeth sinking into the wan skin, feeling the heat of blood well to the surface. Martin cries out, thrashing as he tightens his hold before releasing, sucking on the spot gently.

Douglas has marked him, and although they’ve done this plenty before, love bites and bruises left in the most inconspicuous places, there’s something decidedly different about now. Different looking at that dark, poppy bruise bloom on Martin’s pale skin, a stark claim to him. In the previous times, it was a silent admission, a wordless concurrence they both acknowledged. Martin was his and he was Martin’s. But now, now Douglas really makes it adamant, forcing it, growling it aloud. Martin is his, completely, whole heartedly. His.

And it’s so deliciously wrong, he can’t get enough. For the first time in years, he feels drunk, incoherent and lightheaded, euphoric and invincible. And yet, he hasn’t touched a drop of the volatile stuff. It is Martin, all Martin, this gangly, tongue-tied, self-conscious, prissy man that has taken everything he is and shaken it twice over.

Martin whimpers when Douglas thumbs the bruise, pressing down on it firmly. Douglas moves his hands back to clench the man’s hips, bending and spreading his knees wider to gain enough purchase to bring the man down hard on his cock.

“D-daddy! Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

“That’s it Martin, that’s it, take it! Make daddy come, bounce on it.”

“G-god! F-f-fuck me!” Martin chokes on the words, his lips struggling to push the F out as he pants for breath, writhing and mindless. Douglas can feel his peak coming, feel the drop in his gut, the elevating pressure in his groin as his orgasms approached. And when Martin squeezes around him, honest to god clenches himself, Douglas sees stars.

“Martin!”

He comes so hard it almost hurts, his orgasm taking him by surprise. His face hurts, his body arching and tensing so abruptly as he erupted, that he can do nothing but ache and pant when he comes to. Martin is still squirming on him, his hips jerking as that hot, flood of come flowed within him. Douglas reaches forward and wraps a large hand around his leaking dick, tugging at it once, twice before the man is screaming his name and coming.

“Douglas! _Douglas!_ ”

He pants and gasps and moans before collapsing forward, saved by the bulk of Douglas’ chest. The man wraps his arms around him and breathes into his hair, nosing the damp curls behind Martin’s ear as he twists them both to their sides, curling in on each other. Martin is a flushed, breathless mess, his entire body coloured pink, come sticking to his chest, and leaking from his arse. Douglas reaches down gently and runs his fingers between them, feeling the man inhale sharply and recoil from the touch, sore and sticky, and Douglas’ fingers come away wet.

But as he makes to move, to reach over the side of the bed and retrieve the towel he left there prior to Martin’s arrival, the man clings to him, arms and legs locking around Douglas tightly and squeezing, keeping him in place.

“Stay...” Martin rumbles, his face buried in the crook of Douglas’ neck. “No moving.”

Douglas smiles and nuzzles his hair. “Back to giving orders now, are we?”

Martin chuckles, a small, fluttering laugh before scooting closer to Douglas, tucking himself even further into his body. “Hmm...”

Douglas strokes his hair, idly running his fingers through the damp curls. “How’d you feel?” He’s not going to ask Martin if he hurt him, because he did. But that was, essentially the point. How Martin feels now is more of a priority and they use this quiet, lazy moment to just bask and indulge themselves in the sentiment and affection the relationship brought.

Martin rumbles, the sound fluttering in his chest, vibrating against Douglas’ hand as he skimmed it down the man’s spine. “Sore.” And they both laugh. “Very sore. But in a good way, very good way.”

Douglas smiles against his hair. “That’s good.”

“Hmm...” Martin looks up at Douglas, bright eyed and it’s such an innocent gesture, Douglas can’t help the tiny quiver his insides give at the thought that moments ago he had spanked this man, had punished him and fucked him and _god_. “I know you already know it, but you really are amazing. Why did you...I mean...”

Douglas shrugs and with an exaggerated sigh, rolls onto his back, draping Martin over him like a makeshift blanket. “You know how I loved being owed a favour-”

“Douglas.”

“Oh alright,” he chortles. “Because you wanted it. Because you asked so nicely.”

 _Because I love you and would do anything for you._

Of course he opts to discard that bit, keeping quiet for now. Martin’s looking at him though, curiously dazed and Douglas can see that he already knows. Instead of admitting it though, he smiles wryly and pats the man’s bottom cheerfully.

“Because I couldn’t pass the chance to bend you over my knee like a naughty boy and spank that glorious arse of yours.”

Martin splutters in indignation, the tips of his ears blushing red. “Douglas!”

“Oh after all that, you’re embarrassed now?” Christ, the man really was something else. He begged and writhed and cried for Douglas, no- _daddy_ , to fuck him and only now he saw fit to feel shame. Douglas sighs, exasperated, and runs a hand through Martin’s hair, stroking his scalp.

They bask quietly for moments, mere minutes or hours, they don’t know. It’s peaceful enough just lying there, content with one another before Martin finally pipes up, breaking the calm silence with a soft hum muffled with Douglas’ skin.

“I love you, you know.”

Douglas has to pause at this, consider it for a moment before relenting and smiling. “I know.” And he does know, Martin shows him every day whether he means to or not, from the small smiles and kisses, to the gesture of worrying if Douglas is doing something particularly risky. It’s nothing short of touching, this unspoken intimacy between them, the transition between friend to lover to something wholly indefinable. Partner? Boyfriend? Husband? Soul mate?

It seems to be the closest thing to it, yet still completely off. He can’t describe it with words, and perhaps it’s never meant to be.

Martin kisses his collarbone gently. “I know you know. And I know you love me too.”

The man is unsurprisingly astute at times. Of course why wouldn’t he be? Douglas never made an effort to hide his feelings.

“That’s good,” he murmurs, scraping his nails ever so lightly across the man’s scalp, just how Martin likes. The man hums in contentment and lays his head back down.

“It is good. It’s very good.”

And it really is.

Fin

A/N- Quite possibly the filthiest thing I have ever written. Ever. Hope you enjoyed! ;D


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